“O my God! Dounyásha, don’t speak to me of that money!” said the lady in a reproachful tone. “Only to remember that little infant. …”
“The peasant does not know to whom you desire it to be given, madam,” Dounyásha again said.
The lady opened the envelope, shuddering at the sight of the money, and became thoughtful.
“Dreadful money! How much evil it causes!” she said.
“It is Doútlof, madam. Will you give orders for him to go, or will you please come out and see him—and is it all there—the money?” asked Dounyásha.
“I don’t want this money. It is horrible money! … What it has done! … Tell him he may take it if he likes,” said the lady suddenly, groping for Dounyásha’s hand. “Yes, yes, yes!” she repeated to the astonished Dounyásha; “let him take it altogether, and do what he likes with it.”
“Fifteen hundred roubles,” remarked Dounyásha, smiling as if at a child.
“Let him take it all!” the lady repeated impatiently. “Why, don’t you understand me? It is unlucky money. … Never talk to me about it! Let the peasant who found it take it. Go! … Well, go along!”
Dounyásha went out into the maids’ room.
“All there?” asked Doútlof.
“Why, you’d better count it yourself,” said Dounyásha, handing him the envelope. “The orders are to give it to you.”
Doútlof put his cap under his arm, and, stooping down, began to count.
“Have you got a counting-frame?”